


Opposites Attract

by Lux Remanet (orphan_account)



Series: Lightis Cinematic Universe [4]
Category: Fabula Nova Crystallis: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XIII Series, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Forbidden Love, UpsideDown!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:49:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1815859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Lux%20Remanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s never had a girlfriend before, much less a crush, but deep down he knows: he’s in trouble with this one.<br/>UpsideDown! AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ssasakii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssasakii/gifts).



> UpsideDown!AU prompt for andypam1994 based on the film of the same name.  
> If you haven't seen it, then I'd recommend watching the trailer at least, so you don't get confused lol ****[click here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3veONCcRWbw)  
>  Thanks for this request! I've never written fluff so here's a first attempt !

“Where is he?”

“I think he went this way! C’mon!”

“Where are you, you son of a bitch!”

“You’re dead!  You hear me!”

Rules are made to be broken.

This is the only thing Noctis thinks that strangely gives him solace while he watches PSICOM Security scurry past the locker he’s hiding in like headless chickens.  Rules are for fools.  His great crime?  He does not belong in Cocoon. It’s not a case of having the right papers; it wouldn't matter if he--or anyone else for that matter--could afford them; the fact of the matter remains: he  _physically does not_ belong here _._

Even now he can feel Lucis’ gravitational pull; much like a child stubbornly tugging their kite’s strings to stop it from flying away.  The rapidly heating up blocks of inverse matter taped around his chest are the only things tethering him to this world, and the moment he frees himself of their weight he’s going to be whisked--or rather dragged--back home. And that's why he needs to get to the sea; quickly as he can because the landing part is _far_ from gentle, and he’s come much too far to become a squishy, pulpy mess of a man his father will have to scrape off the pavement. 

But that's assuming he can make it to the sea _alive_ , of course. PSICOM security are always armed to the teeth. 

When the hallway finally falls silent he lets himself out and makes his way for the stairwell the elevator-dependent morons _always_ seem to neglect.  Once he reaches the ground floor it’s just a matter of casually strolling out the front entrance, swiping the stolen ID and disappearing into the crowd. 

All in a days work.  

* * *

Regis is none too impressed when Noctis finally turns up at the front door hours later; soaked to the bone like a wet dog; borderline hypothermic and _probably_ close to death but he still does not bother with the lecture.  There’s just no point.  You see, Noctis is a _dreamer_ , and dreamers thrive on that one word: ‘ _can’t_ ’.  He has always been a firm _disbeliever_ in ‘can’t’.  He also does not believe in ‘ _almost_ ’.  What he does believe in is ‘ _can_ ’; ‘ _shall_ ’; and even if it kills him:‘at last’. 

The blame falls on Noctis' mother; Etro rest her beautiful, departed soul.

It’s a classic case of Icarus venturing too close to the sun only unlike Icarus his boy knows the right moment to pull back.  Regis, to Cor’s mirth does not know whether or not to be proud of that fact.  What he _does_ know, is that he’ll _never_ stop worrying; especially with the state his son is in right now.  Wrapped in blankets Noctis been strangely quiet the entire evening; just staring into space while the untouched tomato soup begs to be reheated— _again_.   

“Is all of this worth it?” Regis asks with a sigh. 

Some days he wants to just take Noctis by the shoulders and just  _shake_ him.  Shake all of this nonsense out of his brain until his teeth rattle and replace it with more _logical_ things, like the charming young woman next door who used to play with Noctis when they were children.  She’d be healthier for him; _safer_.  He’s about to bring her up but stops short because the zombie-like young man in front of him is finally moving. 

It’s not to pick up the spoon and begin eating; however.  Instead Noctis reaches up, touches his lips and smiles.

The gesture is simple; the meaning behind it even more so, and Regis understanding it so well just drops his hand on his little boy--Noctis is _always_ going to be his little boy--'s shoulder and squeezes.  

"Yeah," Noctis mutters absently, goofy smile still in place as he remains hopelessly lost in the memory.  " _Totally_ worth it."

Regis quietly picks up the tomato soup and rests his case.  

* * *

In the crowded streets of Cocoon, the breaking news on one of the large LED displays along the side of the PSICOM building catches Lightning’s eye and as she cranes her neck to watch, Serah does so too.  The news anchor is trying desperately not to smile.  Lightning loses that battle for the both of them.

‘ _In a bizarre turn of events, the Lucii prankster known only as 'Noct' has struck again, this time impersonating a PSICOM officer.  Individuals at the scene say…’_

“Is it really so terrible for people to want to live in opposite planets?” Serah asks.   

“Not terrible.  Just...impossible,” Lightning answers, because Serah’s questions are never rhetorical.  “It’s for their own safety.  If we didn't have PSICOM people’d be splinching on the side-walks left and right.  Trauma is the last thing anyone wants to wake up to in the morning.  It happened to another girl at the office--we never heard from her again.”

“Still…”

“It’s the way things are.” Lightning says, and that’s the end of the matter. 

“Anyway how was work?  You look a little— _hello_ …” Serah's eyes nearly pop out of her head as the image of the PSICOM intruder taken from a security camera suddenly dominates the screen.  Her hand gestures for Lightning to answer.  “Um yeah how was your day?”

“Oh, you know, same old,” Lightning’s tone is the epitome of nonchalance in spite of the obvious blush on her cheeks.  Serah thankfully doesn't notice; too preoccupied with swooning over Public Nuisance Number One. 

“Etro he’s _cute_!” She declares, nudging Lightning pointedly in the side. “What do you think?”

Lightning makes a show of rolling her eyes.  “If you’re into that sort of thing.”

She doesn't stop touching her lips the entire bus ride home, though.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

Glowering, Noctis marches stiff-legged through the cold corridors of Caelum Laboratories, wet and shivering, leaving puddles of muddy water in his wake.  The other staff immediately shuffle out of the way as he storms up to his room, some retreating back into rooms they just stepped out of, others pretending to hunt for non-existent dust on the windows.  He ignores their whispers and quiet jeers and slams the door shut. The mask which has been a part of this journey since he was five is torn off.  It’s useless now.  Three seconds later it shatters against the nearest wall.

Later in the evening there is a soft knock at the door.

“Go away,” Noctis grumbles, from under the sheets and pillows.  He’s not feeling an ‘I told you so’ speech right now. (Not that he ever would at any given time, though).  The door opens anyway, and he feels the foot of the bed sink from Doctor Caelum’s familiar weight. 

“So I saw your latest piece,” his old man begins with a chuckle.  “Odin’s Tower, huh?”

“Mmmph,” Noctis says. 

“How’d you do it?”

“ _Mmghph_.”

Regis whistles.  There is pride in his tone as he deciphers that one.  “Climbed, huh.  Amazing.  And you didn’t get caught?”

Noctis turns onto his side and removes the pillow and duvet from his face.  “Dad…”  he hesitates and then sits up fully to face him. 

“What’s up?”

“I know you’re a firm believer in what you do, but have you ever…had doubts?”

He chuckles quietly and shuffles over, wrapping an arm over Noctis’ shoulder.  “Everyone has doubts, Noct.  It’s what makes us human.”  As Noctis’ takes that in, perhaps a second longer than he should, the smile on the older man’s face dims.  “Something happened today, didn’t it?”

Noctis hesitates. And then, “…yeah.”

Regis’ eyes narrow slightly.  "You were compromised."

“Not…exactly?” Noctis offers timidly, flinching at the older man’s disapproving glance. 

“Start at the beginning,” Regis commands.  He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Dad it’s okay I didn’t—”

 “ _Don_ _’t leave anything out_.”

Defeated, Noctis bows his head.

And the story begins. 

* * *

Life is many things.  A bitch, a box of chocolates, ‘ _short_ _’—_ but definitely _no_ fairy tale.  There is no knight waiting to swoop in and save the day when the going gets rough.  The time it takes to realize this depends on the person.  For Lightning, it had been just like the night her parents had been stolen from her and Serah: an instant.  An instant to realize that the only knights in this world were the ones who _chose to be_. An instant to realize that if all you had to depend on was yourself then you needed to work your ass off because nine times out of ten, it’s not going to just fall in your lap. If it does, it’s just luck.  

 _Bad_ luck.

Because that’s the only luck _this_ knight’s ever going to believe in.

…and why the events of today and the past few years aren’t _that_ surprising to her.

"PSICOM freeze!"

At the edge of the rooftop, just five feet away from the taser she's got pointed at their back, the hooligan she's been chasing _finally_ does exactly that. She wonders how far she can go with this, if like the last couple of times if it’s all just a ploy.  Like her codename she is fast, but apparently, as the past three years have proven; not fast enough.  Chasing after Noct is like chasing after your own shadow: just when you think you’ve caught it, it slips away.  
Her colleagues are none too gentle about it when the topic is mentioned when she’s around, and the mention it every chance they get because it’s the only time they get to see her fail _._   If she hadn’t taken on this case, her record would have been otherwise _spotless._ To add salt to the wound even Serah has started commenting on it, even giggles like a school girl every time Noct’s shenanigans are addressed on television.

“Seems like you’ve finally met your match, sis.”

Assumptions like this _fuel_ her.  _There is no one like me._ "Drop the spray paint and put your hands on your head!"  she barks. 

After a minute dedicated to possibly realizing there's nowhere left to run he turns, slowly.  His face is masked but deal with enough assholes on a daily basis and one doesn't need X-Ray vision to know he's smirking. As if he has an ace up his sleeve.  It could be a bluff or he probably does have a plan B, but Lightning’s not about to take chances. 

"Oh come on, you aren't still bitter about last week are you?" he laughs as he says it, and if looks could kill, Lightning knows he would be dust in this dry summer wind.  Vaporized in an instant.  This is the first time he’s ever spoken to her and of course those first few words manage to royally piss her off.

"Drop it," she twitches at the unintended pun and he snickers like a child who has managed to outsmart teacher. "Put your hands on your head."

He sits on the ground instead, drawing up a knee to rest his arm. The spray can is planted next to his feet but she’s more absorbed in his boots—or rather, the soles of them.  Their colour has the analytical gears of her mind churning.  Red soles are the trademark of Paddras’ a high-end designer footwear company whose products are insanely difficult to counterfeit.  And it tells her that he’s either very rich, or a thief. She doubts it could be the latter because there are tracking microfibers in the boots’ leather makeup to prevent theft or recover stolen items.  That leaves stinking rich. 

_And now for a motive._

Given the politically charged nature of the messages he sprays on walls urging people to ‘wake up’ and to ‘take a stand’ against the ‘questionable’ morality of the government she works for it’s highly unlikely he does it out of boredom. 

"Do you know why PSICOM officers wear helmets?" he asks. 

Lightning pauses for a moment.  The way he asks the question is not as if the thought has just popped into his mind.  It isn’t blurted out in a loud panic.  Rather it is in a calm, inquiring tone, as if this is something he puzzles over constantly. Or not.  PSICOM deals with enough ‘activists’ to know there are no such things as random questions.  It’s how they operate; playing on a person’s guilt and humanity to talk their way out of arrests.

"You can tell me on the way to the office," she tells him, nodding back to the taser she has pointed at him as a reminder of their current situation.  This is an arrest, not a conversation on existentialism over coffee. "Get on your feet. We’re going."

"It's so that people forget there's a human being on the other side,” he continues, his voice taking on a ‘know-it-all’ tone.  “Simple brainwashing.  No one sees you but the ideals of the government you enforce; the way you interact with civilians.  Wearing a mask dehumanizes you; makes it easier for the people you work for to instil fear so that when they see you, they don't see _you_.  They see what you symbolize.   And what you _symbolize_ is peace…in exchange for control and undying co-operation and loyalty. Because let’s be honest: no one's going to take orders from a plain Jane or Joe.  Heck, no one even knows what _gender_ you are, thanks to that voice altering technology."

"I guess that explains _your_ mask then," Lightning answers, despising the condescension in his tone, and the emotion in hers.

"It's to protect the one I love."  

 _And there it is_ , Lightning thinks.  A different set of gears in her head begin to churn.  ‘Love’, he said. 

_I can use this._

Nabaat has always emphasized that using empathy and finding a way to connect to perpetrators makes arrests easier.  Lightning has no empathy or intention of finding common ground with this lawbreaker—it’s infuriating enough that people are saying she finally has a nemesis/rival to humble her—five missed chances for arrest is absolutely unacceptable.  Empathy isn’t her strong point so she thinks of Serah, racks her mind for the right words that the younger more compassionate Farron would say until they leave her mouth. 

"If you cared about your loved one you wouldn't be doing this in the first place."  But even as she says it, she’s a little surprised.  She actually sounds genuine, for once.

"They're the whole reason why I'm doing this."

"And why you're not afraid of me."  As shitty as it is for her to admit, fear has always been the driving force behind PSICOM’s success.  Hers, too.

"No I think I'd fear you a whole lot more if you took your helmet _off_ now that I've confirmed there's not some heartless Dysley clone behind it. You'd be a person and not just an extension of the Cocoon government’s iron fist.  But do you think you'd fear me if I did the same?"

"Nope."  Lightning doesn’t even need to consider it. 

He reaches up and pulls the mask right off.

* * *

The taser hits the concrete floor with a loud clunk.

Under better circumstances, Noctis knows he would have laughed.  But this is not the time for laughing.  PSICOM agents are not known for losing their composure, and that is definitely a sign that he should feel more dread than comfort and he does.  Because revealing himself—this early, at least—was never part of the plan.  But he has, and he’s come too far to know regret is a coward’s fancy.  It takes a few seconds for the initial shock to wear off and he is admittedly surprised that they recognize him.  Most people don’t even know his father has a son.  Then again, this _is_ PSICOM. 

“You’re… Doctor Caelum’s son.” There is understandable disbelief in their tone, but the disappointment he also detects wipes the smirk right off his face. They don’t even _know_ him.  What gives them the right to judge? 

 _God they_ _’re as bad as my old_ _—_

That train of thought derails as quickly as it forms in his head.  Given their occupation it’s probably second nature to be condemnatory.  He’s getting too personal about this, isn’t he, and this guy’s just trying to do their job.  This one person isn’t why he’s going through all this trouble so it isn’t fair of him to project his frustrations onto them.  So he decides to try to be as amicable about it as possible.  He’s never been in handcuffs before, and the possibility of him not being in them when this day is through is zero, so maybe if he’s diplomatic they won’t dig into his wrists. 

“It’s nice to make your acquaintance…erm…” he has to squint at the codename on their left pauldron for a bit.  

 _L_ _…R_ _…eight_ _—no that_ _’s a three_ _—thirteen dash_ _—_

“LR13-3,” he says aloud, wondering if he got it right. 

The PSICOM agent doesn’t return the sentiment (understandably). "Are you _out of your mind_?" they go." There’s enough tension between our countries as it is.  If I were to arrest you—"

"Then you arrest me,” Noctis finishes in defiance, because that  stern tone reminds him too much of his father. “There's no need to treat me differently."

"You know if I'm not mistaken, it actually sounds as if you've planned on getting caught."

"Well maybe not so soon," he admits, scratching the back of his neck.  It’s a long way down and the anti-matter strapped to him, that he _stole_ from his father’s lab is a long way from burning out.  "But it doesn't make a difference: I heard you radio me in earlier. It's only a matter of time until your friends show up.”

As if to prove his point the radio strapped to the officer’s hip pipes up, a robotic monotone indistinguishable from the person in front of him.

 _“13-3 have you apprehended the target?_ _”_

“For fuck’s sake,” is all 13-3 mutters, looking at him for a long while before a decision is finally made.   “Guess there’s only one thing left to do, then.”

Noctis nods and closes his eyes, bracing himself for the pain and eventual unconsciousness to hit but it never does.  All he hears is a resigned sigh and a few quiet steps toward him. Curiosity has him opening his eyes. 

13-3 is offering the taser to him. 

A tiny part of himself wants to kick himself in the head as soon as he understands.  And goddamn it, he should have expected as much.  13-3’s been hot on his trail since day one and is as relentless about upholding the ‘law’ as he is about breaking it.  From one zealous individual to another, the action deserves respect.

He raises the weapon, arms it…only to lower it at the last second.  "I can't."

“What,” 13-3 demands, tone flat.

All he can do is shrug.

13-3 stands with their hand on their hip. "Really," the agent says, more appalled than ever. “You're picking _now_ of all times to bitch out.  And here I was starting to think you’d be a worthy nemesis."

"I...." his hands clench at his sides "why would you..."

"It's the only way they'll ever buy it,” 13-3 explains exasperatedly.  “My supervisor is Lind-Zei with an electron microscope when it comes to these things." Then they step forward, make him point the taser at them again and step back.  "Do it.”

“We don’t have to do this.  I know people in Cocoon. They can—”

They hold up a hand, cutting him off.  “As well-connected as I’m _sure_ you are if you’ve managed to bypass the border, I’d only take that risk if it was just my life on the line.”

“But…” and the protest dies in his throat as he processes the rest of the sentence.

_Just my life on the line._

“Not all of us working at PSICOM do it because we believe in Dysley’s ideals. " the agent goes on to say " Some of us just needed a way to put food on the table.  And I’ve been through with a lot worse so don’t worry about hurting me.  So do it. If you don’t want to put _my_ family’s wellbeing in jeopardy too.”

Noctis grits his teeth at that last part.  _This isn_ _’t my fault_ , he wants to yell, but deep down he knows better.  And it still makes him bitter.  “This doesn’t change my mind about the man you follow.”

“No,” 13-3 agrees solemnly “but it does put things into perspective.” 

* * *

Serah’s expression turns worried as Lightning enters the apartment, slightly delirious as she kicks her boots off and collapses like a sack of potatoes onto the couch.  Serah’s first instinct is to put a hand to Lightning’s forehead, to check for a fever.  Even though she doesn’t feel one, she still remains apprehensive.

“What happened?”

“Got…tasered…” Lightning groans out.  “I’m going to sleep…go away.”

Serah doesn’t.  “Did you guys have drills?”

Delirium, Lightning believes, is the only reason why words are still coming out of her mouth aside from moans every time she makes the tiniest movement. The taser’s effects wore off hours ago, but even so, it still feels as if every single cell in her body has been bruised.  Everything that touches her hurts.  Even talking is painful, but she can’t seem to stop.  “No…it was...on the job...”

Serah folds her arms.  Smiles slightly even.  “Had another run-in with the anarchist, did you?”

“…not as young....as I thought he was.”

Eyes widening, Serah drops to her knees at Lightning’s side, eager.  “You saw his face?  What’s he look like?”

Lightning wants to say more, but the fatigue from being up since four in the morning is catching up to her.  Three years and she’d never thought to suspect the descendant of the scientific mind that cast the spell to separate their warring worlds.  “Like a moron,” she tells the younger Farron.  She doesn’t know if she’s talking about herself or ‘Noct’ but she’s too tired to care.  And then sleep takes her.

It’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to her this week, but Lightning knows with her luck, it’s just universe just being nice before proceeding to dick her over, as usual.  And she’s proved correct.  Two weeks later, someone manages to hack into her email—but not to steal information; however.

 _Nautilus.  8PM sharp._  
No masks.   
I just want to talk.

-N

She leans back in her seat and sighs. 

It’s a miracle, really, that he isn’t on PSICOM’s watch list.

* * *

“I thought you said no masks,” a voice says quietly beside Noctis, somehow managing to drown out the laughter and fairground music all around him.  As he turns, the mask he’d been given by one of the Nautilus attendants falls from his hand.  To say he is surprised at what he finds beneath 13-3’s mask is an understatement.  His face and neck turn hot. 

Her eyes narrow dangerously, as if reading his mind.  “I can still kick your ass, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she snaps. 

“Sorry it’s just…” it’s easier to talk if he doesn’t look at her, because then he’d just be staring “I always thought you were a guy.”

She rolls her eyes at that.  “Most guys do,” she says, but she doesn’t sound bitter about it, only resigned, as if she’s given up on coming across someone who thinks otherwise.  He starts to apologize but she waves it off and makes a show of checking her watch. “You’ve got one hour to tell me why this was such a good idea.”

He manages to play it cool—on the outside anyway.  Having grown up with no real female figures in his life he finds himself stumbling for the right words to say.  He has none of Prompto’s easy confidence or Ignis’ class, or even Gladiolus’ candour, so  the conversation quickly goes nowhere, and as if sensing his nervousness she picks up the mask and hands it to him. 

“Put this on,” she says, in the same bossy tone he remembers from their previous encounters.  And then, “wait here.”  She disappears into the crowd.  He stands lost, blinking owlishly until there’s a tap on his shoulder not two minutes later.  She’s wearing a mask as well, and he figures she must have a sense of humour: it’s exactly like his old one: white with a purple lightning bolt running down and through the right eyehole. 

“Better?” she asks.   

“Maybe a little,” Noctis smiles, wondering if she sees herself the same way he does after she takes it off because she catches the eye of a few passing admirers.

She stands, annoyed until she spots someone in the crowd.  Then her face turns pale and she quickly pulls her mask back on.  “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“My friends are here.”

“Cool.” Anyone would be curious to see what kind of people a strong, obviously independent individual like her would choose to surround herself with, but he never gets the chance to find out, only his arm in her vicelike grip as she begins dragging him.  He feels strangely put out by this, as if she’s ashamed to be seen with him. “Hey…don’t you want to say hi?”

She stops dead in her tracks when he says that; glares at him (a blind person could tell she is), like he’s said the stupidest thing in the world. “And put them at risk?”

Right.  Of course.

The entire night is spent dodging what has to be the most contrasting bunch of individuals Noctis has ever seen.  He gets little snippets of their back stories as they jump from ride to ride, and from what 13-3 has said, the one she thinks he’s most likely to get along with is Hope, given their shared interest in the sciences.  She’s mixing up Caelums, he should tell her, but he decides to just go with it because he's still trying to get used to hearing her voice, and not the mechanical one he’s been hearing for the past three years. They never get to talking about the real reason why he’s there as a result, but to be fair, it’s mainly because he never brings up the matter.  A week later he tries again. 

“Uh, hey, thanks for meeting me,” Noctis says when she finally shows up to Odin’s Tower; albeit incredibly unimpressed. 

“You’d better not make a habit out of this,” she huffs, crossing her arms.  “What do you want?”

 “Perspective,” he says, smiling. 

She punches him in the face for that. 

As he falls back onto his ass he has an epiphany. 

He’s never had a girlfriend before, much less a crush, but deep down he knows: he’s in trouble with this one.     

* * *

“Hey you look really nice tonight.” Serah says, poking her head in Lightning’s room.  “And the past few nights actually.  Are you seeing someone?”

“It’s work-related,” Lightning assures her while she brushes her hair. 

Serah has always been wise beyond her years.  So naturally she doesn’t buy it.  She picks up the laundry basket and continues down the hall but not before calling over her shoulder, “Leave a window open when you go. I can smell your perfume from all the way in the kitchen.”

“Funny.”

* * *

Doctor Caelum frowns as he adjusts the anti-matter device strapped to his son’s body.  The prototype is far from perfect, but like the rest of their experiments it’ll have to do.   Grandfather’s magic still lives up to its reputation: borderline god-like. “So you’re… _friends_ with the PSICOM agent who’s been after you for three years.”

“Yeah.” Noctis’ tone is melancholy, and Regis understands instantly.  He takes the seat next to him and puts an arm over his shoulder, chuckling.  Like father, like son, the saying goes.

“Does she know?”

“Yeah.”

Regis has to blink a couple of times at that one.  “You told her?”

Noctis frowns at him. “Should I _not_ have?”

“No, but this _is_ something that should be thought through.”

“Uh-huh, that’s what she told me.”

“So she doesn’t see you that way.  That’s no reason to resent her, Noct.”

“No, she likes me—told me herself.  She just refuses to _go out with me_.”

Regis finds himself chuckling.  He wishes Noctis’ mother were here to see this.  He has a feeling both would bond over a mutual disapproval on his son’s extra-curricular activities.  “Barring the obvious,” he coughs, because Noctis is now scowling, “why is that?”

“She says I’m reckless and impulsive,” Regis has to cover his mouth to stifle his laughter while urging Noctis to continue “that she’s not going to be a factor in my death.”

Hearing that last part activates an old memory that makes Regis stop and smile.  History is indeed repeating itself, it seems.   _That_ _’s the good old Caelum stubbornness for you._

“That’s rough,” Regis remarks with a sigh.  Noctis sighs as well and then gets out of his stool and walks over to the long table where he begins putting on the rest of his gear.  “Don’t forget your jacket this time.  Might catch cold.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Noctis shrugs it on to appease him and then begins loading up his backpack with spray paint. “She told me if she sees me again she’s going to arrest me.  Pfft.  She’s had plenty of chances.”

Regis is certain this woman means it, but he also knows anything he says at this point will go in one ear and out the other. “I’m…going to make soup.  Erm…good luck.”

“No such thing,” Noctis says, in a sing-song voice.  

Regis can’t stop chuckling as he begins climbing the stairs.  The only luck that exists in this world, as his son believes, are the ones you make for yourself.

He gets that from his mother.

* * *

-fin-


End file.
